Things That Need To Pass (passerine!Technoblade x OC) {COMPLETED}

Wounded Friendship

(3rd person POV)

Not a dagger.

The dagger.

The dagger that had stopped a young prince's heart. The dagger that had once lived in a blood god's bandolier. The dagger that had been part of a collection gifted by an angel of death. It had passed between them all, their fingers all leaving invisible marks in its carved handle.

And now it was in Wilbur's hand. He heard a soft, distant exhale of surprise as it carved through the man he once called brother—the dagger's final scabbard. 

The cycle was complete.

The curtains were drawing closed.

All Wilbur could do was scream at an empty stage.

Techno's life had not been the easiest thing in the world. He had been in more battles than he could count, and more wars than anyone deserved. His body bore the evidence of a tiresome existence; he could still feel Wilbur's worried eyes tracing the cross-stitch pattern of scars on his back, though even more ran under the cover of his clothes.

He'd been burned, beaten and shot, and had felt every type of blade under the sun pierce his godly skin. And all those hurts combined still could not compare to the pain that went through him as he felt Wilbur's embrace slacken, and Techno fell to the ground, ruby blood staining the soft white snow beneath him.

His blood. Blood that Wilbur had drawn.

His breath quickened as the agony tore through him. Gods were not built to suffer this anguish. But, even as he laid there, feeling both cold and on fire at once, he could hear the Green God's voice in his head—not the chorus of the voices, but a memory that felt more ancient than their eternal cycle.

Mortal hearts can only take so much hurt.

Techno groaned, shutting his eyes to a sudden piercing pain.

Immortal hearts aren't much different, especially if they've been foolishly given to the wrong people.

Was this it, then? Was this heartbreak?

A shadow eclipsed all sunlight. Techno forced himself to open his eyes, and found Wilbur standing over him with a knife in his hands—still dripping with Techno's blood and still rusted with Tommy's.

Wilbur had kept it. The symbol of Techno's greatest mistake, the thing that had killed one brother and had nearly shattered the other, Wilbur had kept it.

And all at once, Techno knew. Wilbur had not forgiven him. And if Wilbur could not forgive him, who could? Who would? He could search the entire universe and the answer would still be the same. No one.

A sob of pain, violent and sudden and unfamiliar, escaped Techno's trembling mouth. No one at all.

Wilbur tilted his head to the side as he considered Techno lying in the snow. He went to Techno's side and kneeled there, as if he might provide comfort, though the light had once again fled from behind his eyes.

But whether it was him or the Green God calling the tune now, it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore beyond the pain.

Techno felt his shoulders shake, and a beat later realized he must be laughing—a bitter, angry sound. The last wail of a bird struck from the sky.

He still somehow had his trident in his hand, but he let it go now. He let everything go once he saw Wilbur raise his arm high, a guillotine about to drop on the wickedest criminal the world had ever seen.

"It's alright," Techno whispered to the brother he knew was still somehow listening, somewhere. "I won't hurt you again. It's over." His heart stuttered out its final pulses. "I'm never going to hurt anyone again."

Techno thought Wilbur's hands must have trembled a bit, but it could have been his own vision failing, or a trick of the dying light.

"It's alright," Techno repeated softly, believing it with everything he had left in him. "It is not your fault."

The voices—Dream's voice—were strangely silent, and Techno felt its absence with bitter relief. Here, at last, was the eternal quiet.

"Look me in the eyes. Let him look me in the eyes," Techno demanded. "At least give me that."

The soft brown shade of Wilbur's eyes, so bright in the fading sunlight, was the last thing the god of blood saw before the dagger dropped. Eryn froze.

Philza's blade dug into and through the Green God's shoulder. Emerald eyes widened with surprise as Philza kept going until the sword pierced through the rubble and then the earth beneath, pinning the god into the ground.

It was not the unbreakable fetters the bastard deserved, but it would have to do as a restraint. Red blood—Even he bleeds red, Philza thought—bloomed through the dirty-white cloth of Dream's tunic and ran down in rivulets into the stones below.

Philza loosened his grip on the hilt of his sword, and then let go completely.

"That should keep you still for a while," said Philza, stepping back from his makeshift prisoner.

The Green God eyed the blade with annoyance, trying to rise and then flinching with pain, before turning his glare on the man that had bound him, however temporarily, to the earth.

"I could still ruin him from here," Dream mused darkly. "It would only take one flick of my wrist."

"Wilbur isn't that weak," Philza replied coldly before turning his back on his enemy. "He isn't weak at all."

His wings spread wide. He could see, in the distance, two figures in the snow. One lying, one kneeling. Philza would not be too late again.

"Choosing to run away then, are we?" the Green God shouted after him.

"I'm choosing my son," Philza answered, and was gone.

It took exactly four seconds for the Angel of Death to close the gap.

One. The blood god murmured his last assurances to a king with vengeance poised over his heart.

Two. As infinitesimal as the breath of the smallest creature ever born from stardust, the dagger began to shake in the ruined king's hand. A frown began to tug at the corner of the Green God's lips, an unfamiliar shape. For once, he realized, he might actually have to put in some effort.

Three. Despite it all, despite everything, despite the Angel of Death's distant shout, despite the cracks in the wall, the dagger still plunged.

Four. But Philza was there.

a/n

alrighttttt

:)

frickin'.. Hey! tch.. go away! I'm trying to do a monologue here-

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ughhh...

nice! we're back online. the thing crashed for a moment.

have a good day, afternoon or night wherever you are!

byeeeeeeee mah bootyful muffins!!